


Unionize the Worms

by pigeonanarchy



Series: i believe in kindness [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, jonny: the worms eat each other, me: but.... what if they didnt do that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonanarchy/pseuds/pigeonanarchy
Summary: Jamie has always felt that it is difficult to breathe. They wouldn’t be able to answer, if anyone were around to ask when the ground had started pressing in around them. It always had, as far as they were concerned, and they almost hadn’t been terrified the first time they noticed that the pressures of grades and rent and bills and peers had turned into literal dirt, the desperation for a moment of peace fading into the sun they were sure they’d be able to see if they could struggle up a little farther
Series: i believe in kindness [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1770628
Comments: 10
Kudos: 23





	Unionize the Worms

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning: a character considering suicide (they don’t actually try it though), ableism, injuries resulting from trying to dig out of the ground in a little tunnel you don’t fit in

Jamie has always felt that it is difficult to breathe. They wouldn’t be able to answer, if anyone were around to ask when the ground had started pressing in around them. It always had, as far as they were concerned, and they almost hadn’t been terrified the first time they noticed that the pressures of grades and rent and bills and peers had turned into literal dirt, the desperation for a moment of peace fading into the sun they were sure they’d be able to see if they could struggle up a little farther.

Sometimes they’d wonder if the pain in their bones and tearing of their skin along the rocks embedded in the dirt with them wasn’t an improvement, because now their efforts at least show visibly. No one could possibly think they’re still fine, after all. Then the ground shifts, though, and they lose their grip, and slide down further into the all consuming pressure of the earth, and they don’t have room for anything besides fear that they will never make it up far enough, and fear that they’ll give up when in reality they could’ve.

Sometimes they joke that they’ve basically been preparing for this their entire life - that _this_ was what their education was for. After all, they didn’t even notice getting encased in so much dirt at first. That comparison mostly just depresses them, though, and they try not to think about it.

Sometimes they wonder if they wouldn’t be better off shoving their face further into the dirt until the feeling of not being able to breathe grows and grows and they just stop. Maybe that’s the only peace they’ll get. They never have tried that though - not before when the options were things like the pills in the cabinet or the knife on the cutting board, and not now, where they’d barely even have to try. They’ll die eventually, they’ve always figured, and there’s a chance things will improve. If they die, this will be all the life they get, but if they stay alive, there might be something more.

Sometimes it doesn’t feel worth it, but the light above them is never completely out of sight, and so they struggle upwards.

-

Michael can’t fidget. He’s sitting in the dining room with his parents, and if he starts swinging his legs or twirling his fork or clicking his tongue they’ll look at him and be so, so disappointed. Why does he need to make a fuss? There’s plenty of space around him but the chair feels so unbearably cramped.

He needs to listen. His father is describing what chores he has to do while his parents are out, but the list is turning into a soup in his head. He tries to listen harder, but then he’s only focusing on trying to focus. His father has stopped talking. When they get home and he hasn’t done what they asked, they’ll be so upset with him. Sometimes, his mother is willing to repeat things for him, but she’s not in a good mood today. Why is he always so disrespectful? His chest feels tight, and he can’t breathe past the sounds of words he should have heard.

Michael has the answer. He’s listening to the conversation, like his parents tell him, and trying to see when he’s supposed to talk. Everyone else always knows, and the conversation goes around like a game of monkey in the middle and Michael can’t get the ball. He thinks someone’s pausing, and pipes up with the fact no one else could remember. His mother starts talking at the same time as him. When he raises his hand, he gets laughed at, told he’s not in school anymore. Why can’t he just join in the conversation without interrupting? He doesn’t know.

His teacher assigned this work. He’s supposed to do it. There’s also that other work, and a test he needs to review for. He needs to do all of it. It’s a _worksheet,_ it’ll take ten minutes at most. Half an hour for the review. Another half an hour for the assigned reading. Why does he feel like he’s drowning? It doesn’t feel like it won’t take very long. He looks at his homework and blinks, it’s two hours later. He did none of it. Why is he so lazy? It wouldn’t have been hard. He must not be trying hard enough. He feels like he’s pushing against solid stone.

Michael feels like he’s surrounded by walls that everyone can see but him. Go _here,_ not _there/_ Do _this,_ not _that._ They close in on him from every angle when people are around, and he wants to cry, but he knows not to. This is a friendly conversation, and people don’t cry during those. He doesn’t know when the right time to cry is.

Sometimes he succeeds. How are your grades, the psychologist asks. He has all As and Bs. If he stays awake until he gets his homework done, eventually he’ll be so desperate for sleep he’ll do his work. He can only focus in class occasionally, but he can generally get a good grasp on the concepts being discussed fast enough to make up for it. He’s quiet, and funny, and good at getting teachers to like him, so they never care that he’s on his phone or doodling. They’ll take other people’s phones away, and then give him extra credit. Maybe if he’d fail, they’d see the problems his grades hide.

He’s tired all the time, and he can’t keep a hobby for more than a few days. He spends all of his time awake at school or failing to do homework. His grades feel almost heavier than his parents’ disapproval when he does something wrong.

Michael clutches at dirt, trying to pull himself up, but it comes away in his hand and he slides deeper. He digs his toes in, or at least what remains of them, to slow himself. Probably he just isn’t trying hard enough.

-

Jamie finds a path going sideways. Maybe this is the change in circumstances they’ve been waiting for! Constantly climbing up and falling down isn’t getting them anywhere, but maybe if they go sideways they’ll be able to find a way out. Either that, or they’ll be crushed to death, but if they stay where they are they don’t think they realistically have any hopes of things getting better, so they might as well take the chance.

There’s no light in this tunnel, but it’s a _change_ and their hope has been renewed. Is their path, clawing through the dirt (through the bills they can never get on top of, they can never catch up to) curving up, slightly? Or are they imagining things?

If they don’t buy their textbooks this quarter, maybe they can get far enough caught up on their rent that, if they’re lucky, they can get on top of the electricity bill after. From there, if things go right, they might be able to lower their debt enough that paying for internet isn’t such a far off dream. First, for that, they’ll have to find somewhere they can pirate all of their textbooks without their professors catching them. Some of their professors will be fine, they know, but others have assigned books that they themselves wrote and might be unhappy to not get the extra money. Professor Smith is known for that sort of thing, after all.

The rocks catch at their skin as they pull themself forwards slowly. _I can’t do this,_ they think, but that’s what they’ve thought every other time, and they’ve always made it.

They’ve never _made_ it, not really, but they’re here, and they have to say that counts or they won’t have the energy to keep going. They’re always more and more behind, but they’re always just ahead of full on disaster. This is making it, they say. Every day a day ahead of disaster, no rest, no time to breathe, just constant pressure. At least it’s not worse.

Their fingers brush at air.

They pull themself forwards faster, heedless of the tearing of their body in their rush towards this new space.

It’s another tunnel, like the one they left.

They don’t _know_ that yet. It _might_ be better. Maybe this was all worth something. _Please._

-

Mason carries Hope through the horrifying lands outside their nightmare of a war. The two of them have been trying to avoid the other nightmares - the nightmares pull at them when they get close, calling them to forget each other and the happiness they’ve managed to scrape together and everything that isn’t whatever form of suffering they offer.

Here, though, he didn’t notice anything until the mud was sucking at his feet. It had looked like a barren plain, like the other land they’d been traveling, between everything else, and he hadn’t heard the pained moans over his own heavy breathing and Hope’s humming.

He pauses, and shoots a panicked glance at Hope, who stops humming and pales as they realize their pair has accidentally wandered into the middle of one of the hellscapes they’ve been trying to avoid.

The ground is calling them, singing of the pressure of expectations and hopes and fears, and Hope clutches tighter at Mason’s shoulders.

“Mason,” Hope whispers, as if that has any meaning in this world. If it brings them comfort, Mason thinks, then that is, itself, actually a meaning. He nods to show they’ve got his attention.

They just point, to a shovel lying a short ways off.

“I think,” he begins, trying to weigh the options. “If we try to dig someone out, we’ll just fall in ourselves.”

“Could we stick it in one of the holes for someone to grab, though? Pull them out?” They ask, still hushed.

“Would anyone actually be able to get high up enough to reach, do you think?”

They nod emphatically. “We got out. It’s possible, I think.”

He picks up the shovel. “Let’s see if anyone’s high up enough to reach, then.”

-

Michael’s grasping fingers brush something that isn’t dirt or the small amount of dusty air he tries to breathe. It’s skin, he thinks, although he’s not sure he remembers what skin is supposed to feel like at this point.

He wants to say something - hello? How’s the dirt weather? What sports are the rocks playing, do you think? - but he chokes on dust, the same as he does every time he breathes. He doesn’t know why he was expecting anything different this time.

The other person’s fingers twitch, and he realizes how little space there is in his little tunnel. Are they coming to take it from him? They won’t both fit, he’s certain. Maybe they’ll use his face as leverage, to push themself up further while condemning him to absolute darkness. Maybe they’ll slide down past him, clutching at him for purchase and pulling him down even further than he’s been before. He needs to _defend_ himself.

 _Do I, though?_ asks the faint corner of his brain not consumed with fear. _Maybe the two of us can dig faster together. Maybe we can help each other escape._

He almost wants to say it’s not worth the risk, but he pauses. What would he be risking for the chance they’ll help? They might push and pull him down further into the earth, just as much as they might help - maybe more, if they’re as desperate as him. But then, if he doesn’t chance it - his foot slips slightly where it’s lodged into the dirt - if he doesn’t chance it, realistically, he probably will never make it out.

When he puts it that way - the only opportunity of escape coming with the possibility of things getting much worse - his choice feels obvious.

-

In the earth, where Michael makes his decision and Jamie makes theirs, neither one can see how the sky looks on as the fear loses its grip on a couple more people.

Above the ground, though, Hope notices as the sky focuses on one point and remembers the feeling of eyes on them as they decided to trust Mason. They pull on his sleeve to get his attention, not really feeling inclined to make words go, and point towards the sky. He comes to the same conclusion that they did, and starts looking, searching for signs of someone who might be able to escape.

Hope isn’t in any condition to help, so they sit on the ground and look towards the sky. In the second they hear Mason grunt as he pulls the two people out of the ground, they think they recognize the expression that flickers through the eyes above them.

It’s fear.

-

Jamie and Michael take a while to realize how much of a disaster the world around them is, focused instead on the pain of their limbs realizing that they’re no longer confined by the cramped earth, and their lungs remembering how to expand properly. They’re both aware that their warped and twisted bodies will never go back to the way they were before, but their limbs are identifiable and their bodies are humanoid and their faces can make recognizable expressions, and honestly, isn’t that everything they could want?

Well, no, but it’s everything they’ve got, and neither one has ever been so relieved to be able to stand, even if they are shakier than toddlers learning to walk for the first time. It will be frustrating, they’re both aware, but as they both try to inhale enough air to drain the atmosphere, things seem pretty alright.

Mason and Hope mean to stay while they recover, travel together if they want to leave or at least see them recovered enough to help others out of the earth in turn, but the mud still pulls at them in a way Jamie and Michael are free of, and so they have to leave before they end up the ones getting dragged up out of the earth.

**Author's Note:**

> who needs therapy when you can write fic  
> also this series is a fix it now


End file.
